“Silver Beatle” came from a series of poems written with John Lennon in mind—and working with Gregory Ormson, I saw the potential for a song. We all want John Lennon to visit us in our back yard these days. To have him sing for us and tell us in his usual sardonic method we just might make it through this pandemic. R. Thorburn
In 1970, after my senior year of high school, I hitchhiked out to Berkeley and was at Winterland in October when it was announced during Quicksilver Messenger Service’s set that Janis Joplin had died in Hollywood. That night was October 4. I had spent my last three dollars for that concert which opened with Jefferson Airplane and Grateful Dead followed. When I returned to the Detroit area I formed a garage band, worked odd jobs and barely escaped the draft.
We are all creating new markers to anchor these days—in the hopefulness of rebirth and artful ways to live. R. Thorburn, Marquette, Michigan
“There were no flies on Frank that morning—after all why not? He was a responsible citizen with a wife and child, wasn’t he? It was a typical Frank morning and with an agility that defies description he leapt into the barthroom onto the scales. To his great harold he discovered he was twelve inches more tall than heavy. He couldn’t believe it and his blood raised to his head causing mighty red colourings.” John Lennon, from In His Own Write
Gregory Ormson, music, guitar, vocal; and Russell Thorburn, words; recorded & mixed at Gummersound, Marquette, Michigan